


is the sadness everlasting?

by birkenstock



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 80 percent of this fic is dylan being an angry little man, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 23:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birkenstock/pseuds/birkenstock
Summary: DavoiMessagecongrats on making the all star teamDylan hasn’t spoken to Connor McDavid in probably close to 9 months.





	is the sadness everlasting?

**Author's Note:**

> untagged things that should be warned for: sexist slurs (click the end notes for more in depth explanation) 
> 
>  
> 
> this fic is the result of me creeping on social media and coming to the conclusion that i am 100% positive that strome and mcdavid are not friends anymore. 
> 
> big thank u to sonya for editing for me but also im tired so im not rly gonna read this over rn lets hope its not too bad!!
> 
> title from taxi by the maine

**Davo**  
**iMessage**  
_congrats on making the all star team_

 

Dylan hasn’t spoken to Connor McDavid in probably close to 9 months.

 

\--

 

It went like this:

Dylan and Connor had been struggling to keep in touch with their different schedules playing for vastly different teams. Their texts had dropped off to maybe one a day, to one a week, until eventually both of them stopped trying. Sometimes friendships aren’t meant to last.

That’s the story he tells his family when they ask where Connor is over the summer, the one month he went back to Toronto in August.

It’s the same story he tells his buddies on the team when they refer to “McJesus” and gives him knowing glances because him and Connor are best friends. Were best friends. Whatever.

The real story?

Connor McDavid is a fucking asshole and if Dylan ever sees that motherfucker in the flesh, he’s punching him straight in his donkey teeth.

 

\--

 

Dylan and Merks are both at some U of A house party in Tucson when he gets Connor’s text. It’s the night before their game on the fifth, and they both definitely shouldn’t be out, but it’s the AHL so who the fuck cares? That’s been his motto lately. Him and Merks do this so much it’s technically a ritual at this point, and you know hockey players and their rituals.

The message fucks with Dylan so much that he has to excuse himself from some blonde who’s pretty tall for a girl with suuuuch a nice ass to go outside and _breathe_.

The news about the all star team dropped earlier that day and Dylan was pretty happy about it, as one can be in his position. Connor was just named one of the captains for the NHL’s all star game a day earlier. Fucking typical.

He takes a few seconds breathing in the crisp air outside. He’s not alone, since it is Arizona, people tend to stay outside in the winter since it’s relatively berable, so he grabs a beer from the keg, chugs it, fills it up one more time, and goes back inside to look for Merks. He spots him chatting with some girls, one of them being the one he was talking to earlier, and slides over to him, nudging him in the side. Merks nods at him, but continues to talk to the girls.

Dylan’s phone vibrates again, and he sees another message from Connor, and it makes him viscerally angry. 

 

 **Davo**  
**iMessage**  
_cmon dyl ur read receipts are on._ _don’t be an asshole._

 

Dylan finishes his beer and works his charm on taking the blonde home. But before that? He removes Connor off of Snapchat. How’s that for being an asshole?

 

\--

 

When he wakes up, Dylan is alone in his bed and the light shining through his curtains at just the right angle for the sun to shine on his eyes. He groans and flips over on his stomach, reaching out to grab his phone from the nightstand. He opens it and the first thing glaring back at him is Connor’s message from last night. He sighs and drops his phone, rolling on his back figuring he has time to fit in some depression blank staring before he has to leave for practice in about an hour.

If Dylan could describe himself in one word it would be bitter. He’s a bitter fucking weasel and no matter how he looks at situations, he can't help but feel jaded and bitter about his life. It’s depressing, but he’s used to it by now. His mom says he should go to a therapist, but usually talking about his feelings makes them worse. Way worse. Hence the whole Connor thing.

So he tries not dwelling instead. When things become too much in his head, or he starts to get angry or sad or wistful, he moves on. He keeps himself busy with hockey, going to the trainers, playing video games, going to college parties, literally anything to get himself out of his mind. Connor went and fucked that up.

He hears Merks fucking around in the kitchen and figures it’s time for him to get up. He rolls out of bed and throws on some clothes halfheartedly and makes his way to the kitchen. Merks is making them both a couple of smoothies and Dylan gives him a fist bump for being literally the best roommate ever. Seriously.

They really don’t talk leading up to practice. Merks mentions Dylan’s hookup and Dylan nods his head, but honestly doesn’t even remember the girls name. Whoops. He can tell he’s annoying Merks with his silence this morning. Usually, they like to catch up after a night off, just in case the other remembers something the other forgot. It’s a nice little tradition they have and Dylan is ruining it over _feelings_.  

Dylan’s stuck inside his head the whole practice and it shows. He’s lethargic in his skating - more than usual. His passes aren’t connected. His faceoffs are even worse. He gets reamed out by Van Ryn and Campbell is shooting him glances like Dylan is about to have a breakdown. And honestly, it’s not that far off.

So it’s safe to say he’s in a Mood by the time practice gets out and doesn’t really want to go out to lunch with the boys, but it’s his before game ritual and everyone knows you can’t fuck with that.  

“Stromer, are you doing okay?” Tye asks him after they’ve been waiting for their food for a couple of minutes. Dylan’s been silent the entire time, just fucking around on his phone and not trying to talk to the boys at all. He knows he’s being an asshole but he can’t make his brain _stop_.

“Uh, yeah why?” Dylan replies, knowing full well that everyone knows he’s in a Mood.

Dylan can see Merks roll his eyes and Dylan kicks him in the shin.

“You got something to share with the class?”

Merks glares at him.

“Yeah, fuckwad. You’re acting like a real fucking cunt today and everyone knows it, so don’t fucking act like you’re fine. Just tell us.” Merks says it like it’s easy. Like it’s so easy to talk about his feelings. He doesn't really want to get into it with his teammates before a game. He doesn't want to get into it _period_. 

“I’m just --” Dylan stammers, “having an off day.”

The boys give him a look, but drop it after that. Dylan can tell that Merks doesn’t buy it because Merks shoots him an incredulous look and Dylan tries to tell him to drop it with eyes. It works because Merks lets it go for now.

It blows up in his face later after the game.

He had an ok game. Only one shot on goal, but hey it went in, so he’s not complaining. He tries not to think of all his failures, reasons why he isn’t on NHL ice, which happens every game, a sense of inadequacy, but his bad mood is pretty much gone by the time the game is over and they’re high fiving each other in the locker room on a good win.

He posts a vid of him and Merks later on his Snap story and that’s where it spirals.

It’s almost 11pm by the time his phone starts blowing up. Dylan is getting read for bed since they have another game tomorrow night against Ontario again and when Dylan looks at his phone to see what the fuck is going on, it’s hard for him to keep his cool.

 

 **Davo**  
**3 iMessages**  
_dylan are u fucking serious_  
_u deleted me off snap????_  
_u r a fucking child. get over yourself._

 

Dylan is so overwhelmed with...a lot of emotions he feels his eyes start to tear up and it takes everything in him to not throw his phone out the window. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing.

He wishes things between him and Connor weren’t so fucked up, but he keeps letting shit fester and making it worse. He wishes he had thicker skin, wishes he wasn’t such a baby about his feelings about what went down with him and Connor and he wishes he could just talk to someone about it. But he knows that when he tells them the story, they’re gonna give him pitying looks and eventually side with Connor and tell Dylan he needs to apologize. Which, fuck _that_.

He opens his eyes and opens his phone back up to his and Connor’s message thread.

_Don’t talk to me anymore._

_Please._

He turns his phone off after that and crawls into bed, knowing he will get little no sleep that night.

 

\--

 

The next few days aren’t Dylan’s greatest.

The second game against Ontario is a shit show, Dylan gets a goal and an assist, but he’s minus 3 and they end up losing 6-3. It’s frustrating in the light of things, like he doesn’t even have hockey to help him boost his spirits.

He can tell Merks is close to going off on him too. Every time they’ve come home from practice or they have an off day, Dylan spends it in his room watching Netflix. A couple of times, Merks outright asks him to hang out and Dylan begs off, claiming a Facetime date with his brothers or some shit like that. Merks knows he’s lying. Dylan knows Merks knows he’s lying. It’s all fucked up and it’s all Dylan’s fault.

They have a short road trip next week, and coach busts their asses at practice in the meantime. He bags skates them for every missed pass on Sunday and Dylan comes off the ice thinking he might throw up. He’s so tired he doesn't even fight Merks on the way home from the rink when he plays Post Malone which he knows Dylan hates.

When they walk into the apartment together, Merks loses it.

“Dylan, can you please tell me what the fuck is up with you?”

Maybe if Dylan plays dumb, he can avoid this whole -

“And don’t fucking try and play dumb, dude. Like, yeah, you’re kind of an asshole 24/7, we all know that, but this is different. There’s something wrong and you need to talk about it before you fuck up the team dynamic anymore. Don’t let this affect your hockey.”

Dylan is rendered speechless for a few seconds. Merks is usually a pretty chill dude.

“Just - start from the beginning, ok? Something happened Thursday night, right? Was it that chick?” Merks looks kinda really hopeful and earnest and Dylan caves.

He sighs and sits at their countertop and Merks comes around in front of it and leans closer to Dylan. Dylan closes his eyes and tilts his head toward the ceiling.

“Uh, so, I kind of hate Connor McDavid?” He starts.

Merks makes a small noise but Dylan goes on, not opening his eyes to look at Merks, knowing that there would be confusion all over his face.

“We got into it in the playoffs last year, in the break between the Oilers playing the Sharks and the Ducks. We uh, said some not nice things about each other and I couldn’t let it go.” Dylan sighs again and runs a hand down his face and opens his eyes to see Merks frowning at him.

“What did you guys fight about?” Merks asks.

Dylan winces.

“You have to understand that me and Connor tell each other everything. It’s why we became such tight friends in the first place, he could vent to me about being the savior of fucking hockey in Edmonton and I could talk about how shitty of a hockey player I’ve become.” Dylan rushes out.

Merks frown intensifies but he motions that Dylan should continue.

“So, Connor calls me the day after they win the series against the Sharks, it was a Sunday I remember and the Otters lost a playoff game against Owen Sound the night before in a shootout, so I was in a piss ass mood. Connor - it just escalated quickly. He kept criticizing my play because he watched my game when he got home, which I normally appreciate but. Not then.

“And I might’ve gotten snippy and short with him when he was talking about his own playoffs and he asked me what my deal was and I - I told him that I wasn’t good at hockey without him. Like, ever since we parted ways, I just can’t seem to actually get to the NHL and I was fucking jealous, okay? I’ve been living in his shadow for 2 years and I didn’t _care_ because we were winning and he was my best friend but now that he’s gone, I don’t even have the fact that I’m in the NHL to make me feel better. Anyways.

“Connor was silent and then he told me maybe I was right. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for the NHL, but I was a shitty friend for not supporting him and I hung up on him. And that’s what you missed on Glee!” Dylan ends it with a weak smile but Merks looks floored.

Dylan left out a few details, like how when Connor said that, Dylan started crying. And how Dylan knew Connor felt bad about saying that, but how Dylan goaded him anyways. Goaded him into fighting, picking at all the things that were wrong with them until it was a gaping wound that not even stitches could fix. How mean Dylan was about Connor being a bad friend and not being there for him when he was clearly depressed.

“Stromer, Jesus Christ, what the fuck?” Merks finally speaks up.

Dylan just shrugs and picks at his nails.

“So, what happened Thursday?” Merks asks.

Dylan sighs. “I got a text from him congratulating me on making the all star team. We literally haven’t spoken since April. He didn’t text me when we lost the Mem Cup. He didn’t even text me about my first NHL goal.”

“Yikes.” Is all Merks says in response.

“So uh, yeah. And he kept texting me because I have read receipts on and I was drunk and angry and I removed him off Snap and he found out and blew up my phone even more and it just sucks because. Everything is fucked up.” Dylan ends it weak smile and Merks looks like he’s bracing himself to say something painful.

“I will say, that’s fucked up that McDavid would say something like that, but it seems like you both need to apologize.” And of course Merks would pick the easy way out. _Obviously_ , they both need to apologize.

Dylan’s gaze slides over to stare at the fridge. “What if I don’t want to?” He asks.

“I think you need to ask yourself if this relationship if worth it, then. Could you live with yourself if you never made it right with Connor?” Merk asks back. He stands up straight and comes from behind the counter to pull Dylan into a headlock.

“You better straighten this out soon or I’ll deal with it for you.” He says and walks towards his bedroom.

“What do you mean, Merks? Merks? Merks!” Merks doesn’t answer Dylan’s yelling so Dylan’s forced to think about what just went down.

 

\--

 

It’s safe to say that Dylan doesn’t straighten it out. Like at all.

He steadfastly ignores it. And Merks doesn’t bring it up, but he keeps giving Dylan these knowing looks like he knows Dylan isn’t doing shit. But fuck Merks, because it’s harder than that. This is Conner. They don’t get into fights.

(Ok, they definitely do but they usually maybe last 24 hours tops and it usually ends with either Dylan crying or Conner hugging Dylan until they both fall asleep.)

The thing that holds Dylan back is - it’s the fact that he’s not sorry. He really isn’t, not for feeling this way. For always feeling second best, but also a failure. Dylan has a history of failing: never winning the Mem Cup with or without Connor, getting sent back to Erie _twice_ , going to World Juniors twice and captaining and never winning gold. Thinking about his past accomplishments where he just...falls short time after time literally makes him sick to his stomach and Connor will never, _ever_ know what that feels like.

So yeah, Dylan is an asshole.

Anyways, Marks can’t say shit because he’s not letting it impact him on the ice. When they’re playing Stockton in Cali, he’s not the greatest on the ice, but at least they win.

And then they play Ontario again on Friday night.

It’s an away game and you wouldn’t think that hockey would be that popular in California, but the stadium is packed and Dylan can feel the excitement in the air. Usually it pumps him up but. He has a lot on his mind and he’s really trying hard not to think, but the game is rough and both teams are taking such stupid penalties.

They lose, cause of course they do. Dylan doesn’t even rack up any points. He’s pissy after the game and gives a short post game interview. Him and Merks hardly speak to each other in the hotel, and Dylan just keeps to himself until they get back to Tucson.

They only have a day off in between the road series and the upcoming home games, so coach makes practice optional. Dylan goes because he obviously needs the practice. He’s been falling short and he’s about to go to the all star game and needs to show his worth even if it’s a bunch of horse shit.

He gets home and kind of wants to nap, but Merks convinces him to play Chel so they shoot the shit for an hour and Merks gets up to grab something to eat. Dylan is fucking around on his phone when he hears a knock at their door. He figures that Merks will take care of it, whatever the fuck it might be and thinks nothing of it.

“Uh, Stromer?” Merks yells.

“What?” He yells back.

“C’mere.”

Dylan sighs and gets up, walking towards their door. He’s still looking down at his phone, but when he rounds the corner and picks his head up, and immediately stops dead in his tracks.

“What.”

Connor McfuckingDavid is standing in his foyer.

Dylan is hit with so many emotions at once but the one that shines through knocks the breath out of him. He hasn’t seen Connor in over a year, not in person, but he is wholeheartedly in love with the motherfucker.

Dylan can’t even - he can’t focus on that. Like at all. He just keeps staring at Connor until Connor starts shifting awkwardly and rubs at his neck. Merks is standing slightly behind Connor and it motioning things to Dylan that he doesn’t understand in the slightest.

No matter how much he - he loves? Connor? Which, what the fuck? The hate comes back in full force and he glares.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He spits at Connor. Connor looks shocked for a moment and then he settles into an annoyed look.

“It’s our bye week.” He explains, which actually doesn’t explain shit.

“And? Why are you _here_? No one wants you here.” Dylan shoots back. He can see Merks behind Connor put his face in his hands and Dylan looks back at Connor who has a vicious look on his face.

“You know what? Fucking fine, I’ll just leave. Fuck you, Dylan.” Connor turns to leave but Merks is the in the way and looks like he won’t move.

“You guys are literally a fucking trip. McJesus, you’re not going anywhere. You guys are gonna talk like fucking adults and I’m gonna go to fucking Chipotle because I deserve a burrito after dealing with this. _Jesus fucking Christ_ …” He mutters the last part as he leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Dylan sighs through his nose, staring at Connor. Connor just stares back.

Dylan turns and makes his way back to the living room, wanting the comfort of videos games and his phone. He can hear Connor following behind him and it makes Dylan itch. He’s itching to get the _fuck_ out.

He sits down and grabs for his phone, holding onto it like a lifeline. He feels Connor sit down on the other side of the couch and Dylan tenses, but doesn’t look up. He’s not going to break first.

Connor heaves a huge sigh, which annoys Dylan, but Connor speaks before Dylan can bitch at him.

“Are you honestly still this mad at me?” Connor asks. He actually has the gall to sound annoyed. Two can play that game, buddy.

“Are you still a giant asshole?” Dylan asks back, still not looking up from mindlessly scrolling on Insta. Dylan feels Connor shift and suddenly his phone is being plucked out of his hands. He makes a face and tries to grab at it, but Connor slides it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Dylan, seriously, can we talk this out?”

“I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say to you.” Dylan responds cautiously.

“Why are you blowing this out of proportion, Dylan? We got in a fight. We said some things that we both regret. Can we get past that so I can get my best friend back?” Dylan isn’t looking at Connor but he know what face he’s making. It’s the one that always gets Dylan to cave. _Fuck_ Connor McDavid.

Dylan makes sure he’s looking at Connor when he says this next part.

“We’re not best friends anymore. And I don’t regret anything I said.”

Connor’s face falls. Dylan feels some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing that.

But then Connor’s face steels into determination and fuck if Dylan hadn’t seen that same face every time the Otters were down by one in the third period. It’s the face that tells Dylan that Connor isn’t giving up that easily.

He moves closer to Dylan on the couch and Dylan backs up every time he does, until Dylan is flush with the armrest and Connor is inches away from touching him. Connor grabs his bicep, and when Dylan tries to shake him off, he grips it harder. Connor looks straight into Dylan’s eye, until the only thing Dylan is focused on is the pale blue surrounding his iris.

“I’m sorry. Dylan, I’m sorry I said any of that, okay?” Connor’s face is showing too much expression and Dylan like, wants to cover it with his hands in case anyone walks in and sees it.

“Dylan, seriously. I can’t stand not talking to you, I _need_ you.”

And uh, you know those feelings Dylan decided to ignore when he saw Connor in hsi doorway? Yeah, they’re back. And Dylan is trying so hard not to cave, because Connor - _Davo_ , he’s important but he also makes Dylan feel like shit.

Fuck it, Dylan is just gonna have to spell it out for Connor.

He stands up, and Connor trails his hand down Dylan’s arm until he’s gripping Dylan’s hand. Dylan tries really hard not to shiver from the contact, and wiggles his way away from Connor. He needs his brain to be clear for this conversation.

“Okay,” he starts, looking down at Connor, “it’s just -- you don’t get it? You are literally the last person on the face of the earth to understand what I am going through. And like, it’s not your job to be my personal therapist but that fight we had, it just reminded me that some friendships aren’t meant to last forever and maybe this is one of them.” Dylan sighs after he’s finished, feeling a little better now that he put that out in the air.

Connor looks pissed.

He gets up off the couch and even though Dylan is taller, Connor is bigger and knows how to hold himself that kind of makes Dylan feel smaller. Must be the captaincy.

“I just don’t understand where you get off making decisions about _our_ friendship without my input.” Connor starts. Dylan opens his mouth to say something, but Connor holds a hand up.

“No, stop. You had your turn, now it’s mine. Everyone gets into fights, Dylan, and says shit they don’t mean. You’re not a perfect angel either! You literally told me that you hoped the Oilers lost the next round.”

Dylan winces.

“Yeah, and I might’ve agree with what _you_ had said about yourself, but you have to know Dylan, that you’re one of the best hockey players of our draft year and just because the Yotes are bad at handling and developing you, doesn’t mean _you’re_ a bad player, okay?”

Dylan can feel his eyes watering. Did he mention how much he hates Connor McDavid?

Connor steps closer to him and it scares Dylan. He really hates feeling vulnerable

“Hey, look at me,” Connor asks, and Dylan shifts his gaze from Connor’s ugly hair to his face, and wants to curl up in a ball.

“I want to be there for you, Dylan, but you gotta let me in. I want to be your best friend _forever_. Not just when we played together in Erie. You’re more important than that.”

Dylan’s breath hitches and Connor wraps Dylan in a really tight hug. Like so tight, Dylan thinks Connor is only doing it so Dylan doesn’t run away.

“I just - ” Dylan has to clear his throat because it comes out warbly and watery, and lowers the pitch of his voice since he’s essentially talking in Connor’s ear.

“I get so angry. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Connor squeezes him and pulls back.

“You idiot, I want to. Talk to me about your problems, I’ll tell you about mine, and it’ll be all good. You’re too young to be this fucking cynical all the time, eh?”

Dylan rolls his eyes, and tugs Connor back in for another hug. He’s missed this.

“I’m still mad, you know.”

Connor laughs and ducks his head and nuzzles Dylan’s neck. Dylan tries _so_ hard not to pop a boner.

“Yeah, I know. Let’s play Overwatch.”

Dylan is ok with ignoring his feelings for now.

 

\--

 

By the time Merks gets back, Connor and him are arguing over how Connor fucking left him out to _dry_ in their mission and it’s escalated to them wrestling on the ground.

“Jesus, have you guy still not made up?”

The noise startles both of them and they look up to see Merks frowning at them from the kitchen.

“Oh, uh no, we were just messing around.” Dylan realizes he’s on top of Connor with a leg on either side of his waist and flushes, hastily moves to get off of him. Dylan holds out a hand to help Connor up, and Merks gives them both weird looks.

“Riiiight, well I got shit while I was out.” He lifts up some grocery bags and Dylan goes over to help him put the shit away. He can tell that Connor feels awkward now that Merks is back and it gives Dylan a headache.

“Uh, you guys probably haven’t met? Connor, this is Nick Merkley - Merks, this is Connor McDavid.”

Merks gives him a flat stare.

“I’m pretty sure I know who the Savior of Hockey is, Stromer.”

Connor coughs and Dylan can see the way his face goes red. Dylan grins.

The three of them shoot the shit for the rest of the night. Dylan cooks them all dinner because Merks can only really make smoothies and Connor is a guest.

Dylan hasn’t felt this - carefree in a while. Recently, he’s been angry at Connor, but like before that he just - was. After his short, short stint with the Yotes, he was pissed at first for being sent down again, but. He wasn’t doing good. So the anger turned into resignation and he kind of just existed. Played hockey the best he could and then just did whatever.

With Connor here, he feels like an actual person again. He loves Merks, but there’s no one like Connor. Connor who brings out his inner bitchy side, who he can get into bickering fights with a drop of a hat, and then in the same minute they’re laughing at some stupid vine. It’s effortless with Connor.

It’s getting late and Merks says goodnight to both of them before heading off to bed.

“When are you leaving?” Dylan asks Connor, getting up himself. They do have a game tomorrow and one on Tuesday at 10 in the fucking morning, so he can’t stay up too late.

“Uh, I just bought a one way, so I guess either whenever you want me to leave or probably on Thursday? Don’t you have an away game on Friday?”

Dylan nods and thinks about Connor buying a one way ticket to Tucson instead of going somewhere tropical with his teammates, just to see Dylan and make it right with him. The thought makes his chest feel tight.

Dylan walks towards the hallway to his room and notices Connor isn’t following him.

“Dude, we can share the same bed. C’mon,” Dylan waits for Connor to get up before continuing toward his room.

Once they get in there and the room is closed, it’s like all the air is sucked out of the room. Dylan tries to play it cool, quickly stripping to his boxers and a t-shirt before going to his attached bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.

He feels Connor’s presence like a weight. Dylan can feel himself tense every time Connor gets close to him and he knows Connor is noticing it.

Maybe like the fourth time Dylan very obviously steps away from Connor when he gets too close when they’re getting into bed, Connor snaps.

“Dude, I thought we were fine, what is your problem?” Connor asks, pulling back Dylan’s duvet from his bed, but not getting inside.

“We are! I swear, we’re fine.” Dylan is quick to speak. He’s still not looking at Connor, though.

“What’s your deal, then, Stromer? Why are you so...jumpy all of a sudden?” Dylan internally preens at his nickname coming out of Connor’s mouth, but just shakes his head instead.

“Can we just go to bed? I’m emotionally exhausted?” He makes himself look at Connor and gives him a small smile. Connor sighs and nods his head yes, sliding into Dylan’s bed and Dylan follows him. Dylan’s bed is shoved in the corner of his room, so Connor gets the wall and Dylan gets the outside.

He has a queen, so there’s more than enough room for both of them, but Connor wraps himself around Dylan anyways, and it punches the breath right out of him.

“I missed this.” Connor mumbles into Dylan’s collarbone. Dylan closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths. He lets their legs tangle and thinks about his grandma naked so he doesn’t get hard cuddling his best friend.

“Me too, Davo, me too.”

 

\--

 

Dylan wakes up hot as hell and with Connor’s hair in his mouth.

It takes him a second to remember what happened and as soon as he does, he realizes one other thing.

He’s hard.

Dylan is sweating like a mother fucker (he gets hot when he sleeps, sue him) and he shifts to tilt his body away from Connor’s, but Connor isn’t having that.

Connor’s face is mashed into Dylan’s neck, and his arms and legs are wrapped around Dylan, like a fucking octopus. Dylan isn’t much better. Somehow his hands made their way up the back of Connor’s shirt during the night and they’re rest on his bare back.

Dylan thinks for a minute. He really want to leave his hands there. He also really doesn’t want Connor getting freaked out that like Dylan wants to get all up on him. Their relationship has been through enough already.

He shifts away again, and Connor tightens his grip on Dylan’s body and starts rumbling and moving _closer_ towards Dylan, if that was even remotely possible.

“Mmm, what time is it?” Connor says directly into Dylan’s collarbone and the fucked up part of Dylan gets harder at the sound of Connor’s sleepy voice and how close his lips are to Dylan’s throat. Fuck him.

“Umm, I don’t know, but let me up, dude.” Dylan whispers. He doesn’t know why he’s whispering.

Connor tilts his head up so that they’re face to face and Dylan wants to die. Truly.

Connor is all sleepy faced and beautiful with his stupid blue eyes and tousled hair and adult acne and Dylan knows he’s gaping. He’s so close to kissing this idiot.

“What’s the matter? Can’t we just cuddle?” Connor asks and Dylan is going to hell.

“Uh,” is what he says instead.

Connor quirks an eyebrow and honestly? Fuck it. Dylan deserves to be selfish if he wants. If Connor hates him after this well? It’s not much different than these past months.

He threads a hand in Connor’s hair and see’s Connor’s eyes flutter before leaning down and sealing his lips with Connor’s. Connor makes a noise and Dylan is about to pull back, but Connor’s hands slide up from his waist to grip his shoulders and press them harder together.

Dylan gasps and Connor slips his tongue in Dylan’s mouth and he whites out. He allows himself to get fully hard and it makes him dizzy. He never knew this would happen, _holy shit_.

Connor shifts again, but this time he throws a leg over Dylan and straddles him, and Dylan feels that Connor is also hard and goddammit this is such a nice way to start the day.

Dylan’s hands settled on Connor’s while they filthy made out - Connor is doing this _thing_ with his tongue and every so often, bites on Dylan's lower lip so hard that is makes Dylan gasp and he can feel Connor smirk, that fucker - but he shifts, so that he can cup Connor’s ass (thank you, hockey) and get their dicks on the same plane of existence to rub up against each other.

Connor detaches his lips from Dylan’s and gasps into his ear, “holy shit, _Dylan_.”

Dylan wants that exact noise played at his funeral.

He keeps grinding up into Connor, and Connor’s new hobby seems to be biting hickies into Dylan’s throat, getting him equally frustrated and turned on.

He pulls at Connor’s shirt and mutters, “off, off, _off_ ,” until Connor gets the memo and pulls off his shirt and boxers. Connor raises his eyebrows at Dylan when he’s done and oh, right, Dylan hurries to get naked as well cause like, why the fuck not?

Once they’re both sufficiently sans clothes, Connor literally jumps on Dylan, startling a laugh out of him.

“Jesus, dude, eager much?” Dylan teases while Connor tugs Dylan closer with his hair.

Connor goes fond and ducks his head.

“Uh, yeah actually? I’ve had a huge crush on you for like, years, Dylan. Brinksy used to make fun of me like, 24/7.” Connor confessed.

Dylan is Shocked.

“Dude. _What_?”

Connor looks uncomfortable. “Is that like, okay? I mean, we can hook up, that’s fine, but also I want more and always have?”

Dylan laughs incredulously which makes Connor look even more uncomfortable. Fuck, he’s not doing this right. He grabs Connor’s face with both his hands, making him look Dylan straight in the face.

“Dude, I love you, you know that right? As bros, but also I want to dick you down so bad. With like, commitment and all that shit. You in?”

And yeah, not the most romantic but.

Connor’s answer is to smash their mouths together - like literally smash. Their teeth clank together but their both grinning and Dylan has never felt this way. He could throw up, he’s so fucking happy.

It doesn’t take them long to get back into it, Dylan is so hot for Connor and his dumb donkey teeth. They’re in the same position they were before, with Connor straddling Dylan and Dylan gripping Connor’s ass like it’s a fucking life raft.

He’s getting a little desperate so he slide his hands towards Connor’s crack and brushes a finger over his hole and Connor stills. He’s about to ask if that’s ok, when Connor fiercely mutters against his lips, “ _don’t fucking stop, what the fuck_?”

Dylan grins internally, he’s so good at sex, until Connor breaks their kiss again, to take a rather dirty lick of his palm, all while maintaining eye contact with Dylan, and wraps a huge hand around the both of them. Dylan’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Davo,” he gets out weakly, gripping Connor’s ass, and like, maybe it is a life raft?

Dylan tries to focus on making Connor feel good while simultaneously trying not to blow his load too early. He has to maintain some sort of semblance here.

He’s been brushing over Connor’s hole with his pointer finger softly, and just pushes the tip in, dry, testing out Connor’s ass, and Connor makes a high pitched noise and comes between the two of them. Just like that.

Dylan’s about to chirp him about being easy, but Connor doesn’t even hesitate sliding down Dylan’s body and licking up his _own_ come. Jesus, someone save him.

“Dude,” he says weakly, he’s so turned on he can’t even think straight.

Connor grins at him, while he gets a hand on Dylan’s cock and it punches a breath out of Dylan. He guides it toward his mouth and holy shit, Dylan did not believe he was going to get head from fucking McJesus this morning.

Connor sucks the head of Dylan’s cock and groans so loud, he 100% knows it either going to wake Merks up or if he’s already up, he’s gonna know they’re having sex. Who fucking cares.

Connor takes Dylan’s dick down as far as he can, and what he can’t fit in his mouth, he uses his hands and is twisting it in such a delicious matter, Dylan is so close to coming.

“Connor,” he grits out, warning him to either pull off or swallow.

Connor, in turn, presses his tongue to the underside of Dylan’s head and Dylan’s mind goes white. He comes with a horse shout, his hands buried in Connor’s hair and tries not to pass out.

Dylan throws an arm over his eyes while Connor continues to lap at Dylan’s dick. He starts to become too much and he bats at Connor until he crawl back up tp Dylan, and tucks himself against his hand, with a kiss to his head.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice is fucked, holy shit, and Dylan’s dick tries to get hard again.

Dylan laughs and pulls Connor closer to him, and tugs the covers over them.

“Morning, you sex fiend. Let’s go back to sleep.” Connor laughs and Dylan shuts him up with a kiss.

 

\--

 

(Later that day, Merks pointly looks at Dylan’s neck while they’re eating cereal and goes, “If you just needed to fuck it out, you should’ve just told me. Waking up to you moaning is not how I like to start my game days.”

Connor chokes on his milk.

Dylan throws the entire box of cereal at Merks face while he cackles.)

**Author's Note:**

> warning: merks at one point calls dylan a cunt for being annoying. 
> 
> let me know if there's anything else that needs warning! 
> 
> bonus content: the way connor finds out dylan removed him off snap is bc ryan says something to connor about the vid and connor has ZERO clue what ryan is talking about and dylans story isn't showing up and he goes to dylans name and presses on it and his snap score doesn't show up and connor feels beTRAYED 
> 
> (no this totally didn't happen to me...) 
> 
> also proof of me being a weird social media stalker: strome and mcd's gf don't follow each other on insta. the ~drama 
> 
> also also: hockey players have horrible taste in music (aka country) and i definitely love post malone but i can see someone like strome hating him. so. sry about that stoney


End file.
